Jack's Darkest Hour
by Solsbury Girl
Summary: Jack is abducted – but by what, or by whom, and why? A Jack-centric story, clearly, with a twist of Owen and a squeeze of Ianto. Jack likes to squeeze Ianto... and who can blame him!


Jack is abducted – but by what, or by whom, and why? A Jack-centric story, clearly, with a twist of Owen and a squeeze of Ianto. Jack likes to squeeze Ianto... and who can blame him!

* * *

**Jack's Darkest Hour**

Jack Harkness squeezed his eyes tight shut; really tight shut, trying to ward off his return to consciousness for as long as he possibly could. At the moment he was quite content existing in a mindless, bodiless, limbo where nothing mattered, nothing counted, and – most importantly - nothing hurt. Because he was pretty certain that when this pleasant, temporary state went away there was nothing but a world of pain waiting for him on the other side.

A little light seeped in, although he didn't think his eyes were open. He guessed it was penetrating through his lids. It must be bright to do that, his brain observed in a detached fashion. Star-bright. Alien-bright.

After allowing himself to drift for a few moments more, he started to take inventory, as he usually did after he had died. But this time it felt rather different. He set his mind free to roam over his body. He couldn't feel any bullet holes, which on the whole he considered to be a good thing, as he couldn't remember being shot. And, when he experimentally flexed each of his muscles gently in turn, he didn't feel any jagged shards of glass, or a blade, buried deep within, which was also good as he didn't remember being stabbed either. On the minus side, though, he didn't actually remember anything at all. He was aware of a dull ache in his head that seemed to be getting stronger with every passing moment. And with every passing moment, his grasp on unconsciousness was receding.

He reviewed the last things he was sure he remembered...

* * *

...he'd been at the Hub, in his office, doing paperwork. He recalled thinking that there seemed to be more paperwork than Rift activity at the moment. He preferred chasing weevils to spending his time signing reports for UNIT. OK, so, he'd been at his desk. And he could picture Owen in the autopsy room, quietly humming something unrecognizable slightly off-key. But it was a good memory, Owen was at peace with the world for a change, happily immersed up to his elbows in alien goo. Tosh was at her station doing whatever it was that Tosh did. He didn't particularly understand the computer side of things, but Tosh did and that was enough for him. Gwen wasn't in yet. And Ianto had just brought him his first cup of coffee of the day. He'd made a playful grab for Ianto, but the Welshman was far too quick for him – obviously anticipating the move.

"Sorry, sir," Ianto had apologized. "The postman's just delivered the new poster I want to display in the tourist office; I've been waiting for it to arrive for nearly two months. I want to get it up immediately."

"If you've been waiting for two months to get something up, surely another two minutes isn't going to hurt?" Jack had tried to sound alluring, with a side order of innuendo. It backfired. Badly.

"Only two minutes, eh, sir? Not really up to your usual standard then." Ianto had brushed his lips softly against the older man's to shut him up. "Wait till later. Patience is a virtue, you know. Just drink your coffee before it gets cold." Then he beat a hasty retreat before Jack could make another grab for him or attempt to fashion a witty reply involving, predictably, a girl named Patience and her lack of virtue.

Instead, Jack had settled for yelling "Spoil sport!" at Ianto's rapidly retreating rear. He took time to admire the tight cut of the cloth. He'd sighed wistfully and whispered "Nice suit," then took a long drink of his coffee.

* * *

So, concluded Jack, all in all, it had started as a perfectly normal day in the Hub. Which did nothing to explain why he was lying here, eyes scrunched up against an unknown enemy that he **so** didn't want to acknowledge.

His eyelids flickered, once, reluctantly, completely against his will. He groaned inwardly as he realized the inevitable was only seconds away. And that perhaps he had already given the game away that he was awake. Any element of surprise, his only weapon against this unknown threat, might already be lost.

Eyes still shut, he jolted into full awareness, half expecting to gasp a deep breath of life-giving air, and to sit upright in the usual reflex reaction, despite having concluded earlier he hadn't been dead after all. But something was restraining him where he lay and he was unable to draw anything other than a tiny puff of air through his wide-open mouth. It was by no means enough. He began to panic, trying to suck in vast gulps of air, but to no avail. He realized his mouth was almost blocked; there were things in it. It felt like he was trying to breathe through cotton wool or maybe a gag.

Involuntarily now, his eyes snapped open and his consciousness flooded in fully. An immensely bright light shone directly in his eyes, making it very difficult for him to see anything at all. He was just able to make out the shapes of three smooth-headed aliens, slightly blue-green in colour, with wide, round, goggle-eyes, bending over him. Their tentacles were probing his mouth; the tentacles were sucking, hissing, blowing, forcing his head back and wrenching his mouth painfully open. They pressed against his lips, hurting, bruising, damaging, drowning. He tried to move his head away, to shake himself free of those harsh, invasive limbs, but even his head was restrained. In the background, he could hear a terrible, incessant high-pitched whining, droning, whirring sound. He was very scared. Where were the others? Did they have them too? Did they have Ianto? The thought of Ianto enduring the same terror rocked him to his very soul.

What kind of torture was this? What did they want from him? What had they already done to him? His mind screamed, but he found himself unable to even speak. And then the pain arrived. His headache exploded and his sympathetic nervous system kicked in as his 'fight or flight' instinct took over. His heart rate increased, he somehow managed to suck in more air, and he could feel the blood rushing to his muscles, strengthening him. Jack's instinct was definitely to fight, albeit with the ultimate intention of getting the hell out of there as swiftly as possible. He broke free of his restraints and began to flail wildly at the goggle-eyed aliens who were hurting him, choking him, trying to stop his breathing. However, they out numbered him and they quickly regained their hold, forcing him down, pinning him back down.

Suddenly he felt a familiarly reassuring hand squeeze his shoulder. He looked up, dazed and confused, straight into the friendly face of Dr Owen Harper. He sighed in relief and tried to return Owen's smile but the smile died on his lips before it made it as far as his eyes. The aliens were still holding him down and Owen was making no move to help. He frowned as he watched Owen accept a syringe from someone - or something - in the room. Jack couldn't quite make out from whom; the shape was just beyond the edge of his peripheral vision. He tried to turn his head to see. But despite Jack's renewed struggles, the aliens held his right arm flat and steady, allowing Owen to quickly swab the crook of his arm with an antiseptic wipe. His last thought, as he felt Owen plunge the needle directly into a vein, was that this couldn't be Owen, it must be an imposter, a metamorph, a shapeshifter. Owen wouldn't do this to him – would he? But surely Owen couldn't be on the side of the aliens – could he?

And these were the thoughts that accompanied a punchy, fighting Jack Harkness back into oblivion.

* * *

"Dr Harper?"

"Yes, Dr Weston?"

"I don't think you got the sedative dose quite right this time."

"No." Owen shook his head in rueful agreement. "I don't think I did either. He's certainly never woken up in the middle before. He sometimes comes round in the SUV before we get him back, but never in the middle. I used the normal dose, but maybe his system is getting accustomed to it."

"Maybe," agreed Dr Weston. "But we've almost finished. Just need to get the clamp off. Then you can take him home and put him to bed. He'll be more comfortable there."

"Thanks." said Owen, tapping the comms device in his ear. "Ianto, mate? Can you come and give me a hand to get Jack downstairs and into the SUV? Dr Weston has finished."

"On my way," said Ianto. "By the way, Owen? Have you ever thought about trying to find some kind of relaxation treatment, or hypnotism or something that would help? It would be a lot easier than having to drug Jack's coffee each time."

"Yeah" said the doctor. "You're absolutely right, mate. I'll look into it."

"By the way," continued Ianto, "shall I bring the Retcon?"

"Yep." said Owen. "A quarter of a tablet. Same as we use after each of Jack's dental checkups."

**_The End_**

* * *

So did you figure out the ending or was it a surprise? (I'm hoping for 'surprise') But, if you did suss it - why? I'd love to know (and be honest!)


End file.
